The Stills

by Jess Montgomery

  Well, childhood is long past, and both life and her work have taught her wariness.

  She shakes her head to clear it, makes a note to go in soon, put several of these items on layaway, though Jolene’s been asking for a real pony or horse of her own. Oh, and buy one of the fancy hats that Lily knows Mama covets but won’t own up to desiring. Well, Lily’s going to get Mama one anyway.

  Snow swirls in behind Lily as she opens the women’s door of the Kinship Presbyterian Church. At least it’s the women’s door for now, though there is much debate in the church about allowing men and women to sit together at church.

  She knows she is hesitating in part because going to church has become an obligation, a respectful bowing to Mama’s wishes. Doubt and unanswerable questions beset Lily, it seems, at every church service.

  Now in the church’s vestibule, Lily shrugs off her coat, hangs it in the coat closet, tucks her hat on the shelf over the coatrack. The sanctuary door squeaks as she opens it. Several people turn to look at her, then quickly resume attention to the opening hymn. Benjamin, who had shown up at the house early this morning to see if Mama and Lily and the children would like a ride to church, sits near the back on the men’s side. His arrival at the house had been welcome; Lily had not looked forward to the ride into town in the mule cart, but neither could they miss this particular Sunday.

  Benjamin is not so forward as to give her a smile, but their glances touch for a moment, and his eyebrows and the corners of his lips lift briefly, pleasure at the sight of her. But then he turns back to the hymn.

  She hurries down the side aisle, wanting to get to the pew where Mama and the children sit, before everyone sits, and her boot heels click on the hardwood floor and echo in the hymn’s aftermath. She slides in, ignoring Mama’s sidelong glance, and focuses on the children. Jolene’s relieved look melts Lily’s heart. Had her child really thought she’d miss her big moment? Lily puts her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, prim in her carefully ironed dress and neatly plaited thick black hair, her red ribbons tied perfectly at the end of each braid. Mama and Jolene had fussed this morning over getting those ribbons tied into perfect bows—Jolene not much caring, but Mama insisting that God smiles on neatness, even in hair ribbons.

  The pastor says, “Today we celebrate the first Sunday of Advent,” and Jolene slides out from the pew past Lily and walks evenly—no lollygagging—her slender shoulders squared, her chin tilted up enough that the tips of her beribboned braids brush the waistline of her new gingham dress that Mama had finished sewing just yesterday.

  As Jolene proceeds to the front of the church, the pastor continues. “Hope is belief that an expectation will come to pass. But hope must be grounded in faith—confidence in a person or idea or belief even without proof.…”

  “Don’t see why she gets to light a candle, I’m big enough, and she’s a girl—” Lily shushes Micah with a stern glare. He draws back, cuddling up to Mama. Lily sighs. She will reassure him of her love later, but for now, her attention is only on Jolene. Jolene’s eyes are steadfastly set on the altar as she ascends the wooden steps. The pastor strikes a long match and carefully hands it to Jolene, who lights a blue candle on the Advent wreath, the first candle, signifying hope.

  The light blooms, casting warmth on Jolene’s face. For a blessed moment, all the tension and sorrows of the past three days—the missing revenuer, the illnesses in the Harkins family, Luther’s death, George’s worrying presence, the possibility of wood alcohol poisoning the community, taking in both Marvena and Jurgis on suspicion of Luther’s murder, even her confused feelings for Benjamin—fall away.

  Lily sees only the flickering light of hope as Jolene returns to the pew, her gaze seeking reassurance that she’s done well. This, Lily can give without doubt or hesitation. She nods at Jolene, and Jolene smiles.

  * * *

  At the carry-in lunch after the service, Benjamin had again offered to lend Lily his automobile until hers was repaired. She’d accepted, ignoring Mama’s glare as Benjamin nodded, gave her his automobile key, and walked out of the fellowship hall.

  On the way back home, Mama had been uncharacteristically quiet, harrumphing as she got out of the automobile, You shoulda let that boy drive you!

  Because I’m such a bad driver?

  Well, you did run your automobile into a ditch, Mama groused. And you shouldn’t be working on a Sunday, anyhow!

  Lily’d driven on to Rossville, left Benjamin’s automobile parked at the bottom of the hill, and hiked up.

  By the time Lily makes it to the River Rock Holiness Church, their service is nearly over. Quietly and respectfully, Lily stands at the back of the sanctuary near the coal stove, thankful for the warmth wrapping around her legs and feet. She gazes over the gathering—a thinner collection of people than when she’d come here with Marvena and Benjamin—and notes that here men and their wives and children sit together, not separated by gender. Of this, at least, Lily quite approves.

  She’s taken aback to spot, a few rows up, Nana and Frankie, Hildy and Tom and Alistair.

  “Brother Billy Sunday has preached long and hard against the many sins that liquor lubricates,” Brother Stiles is saying, referencing the popular evangelic preacher who tours throughout the South and Midwest. “And there will surely be a special place in heaven for him, for his role in getting Prohibition passed.”

  “Amen!” a man shouts, an affirmation echoed by others.

  “So what are we to do when one of our own backslides, brothers and sisters?” Brother Stiles goes on. “Do we turn our back, judge them, harden our hearts unto them?”

  “Amen!” shouts the same man.

  “No, dear brother,” Brother Stiles says sadly, “no. For hasn’t temptation come a-knocking at all our doors? We must pray for our brothers and sisters who let it in—even if their doors are like the swinging doors of a saloon!”

  There’s a tittering of laughter, hesitant, but Brother Stiles blesses his tiny flock with a forgiving smile. “We must pray for them continually, and for ourselves, too. We must never lose faith or hope that they’ll find their way back to righteousness, by the grace of God.”

  Lily smiles to herself. Both pastors she’d heard today would find each other’s approaches odd, even irreverent. And yet both focused on faith, on hope.

  Her smile fades. The return of Luther Ross—and his last days and his death—had shown her how fearsomely thin her own faith had become. Not just in religion—she’d long lived with doubts and questions. But in others. In her community. Even in the power of the rule of law.

  “I’ll close with these words from Billy Sunday,” Pastor Stiles is saying. “I was so blessed to hear him speak at a revival meeting in Kentucky this past summer. The law tells me how crooked I am. Grace comes along and straightens me out. Let us pray for forgiveness and grace.”

  Lily bows her head respectfully, though she tunes out Brother Stiles as her mind drifts back to the hike up here. Truth be told, she’d been grateful for the solitude. The effort of climbing the hill while observing snow glistening on tree limbs had given her a chance to sort and settle her emotions and thoughts, particularly about Marvena and Jurgis. It hurts to the core to see her friends at odds with each other, even as they’re each trying to protect the other. But the solitude of moving through nature had eased her troubled mind more than any church service—hers or this one—could. If she could make a request of God, it would be that she could clear Marvena and Jurgis, let them find their way back to peace with each other and a way to help Frankie. But God, Lily knows, isn’t a mere granter of wishes, and so all she can pray for is faith that she will find the truth, and if the truth is that one of them did kill Luther, she’ll have to find a way to be at peace with that. Not just because the law would demand it, but because her life—as the sheriff, as a mother and daughter, sister and friend—would demand that she carry on.

  After Brother Stiles at last reaches “Amen” and service wraps up, most people avert their gaze
from Lily as they linger to chat with friends. Lily makes her way to Nana and Frankie, Hildy and Tom and Alistair.

  Hildy leans close and half-whispers, “After last night, we insisted Nana and Frankie stay with us. This morning, Nana wanted to come up here. Tom didn’t want to bring them, but he didn’t want me coming by myself with them, so…” She pauses, gives a little shrug.

  “You did the right thing, Hildy,” Lily says. After all, what is any community for, if not solace?

  Hildy nods. “I know.” Then she stands aside, to let Nana approach.

  Lily’s heart crimps as she takes in Nana’s splotched face, her red-rimmed eyes, her usually neat bun askew.

  “Oh, Nana,” Lily says, “I’m so sorry—”

  Nana lifts her hand to Lily’s face, to cup it gently. Nana shakes her head. “Don’t ever apologize for doing your job, young lady. Have faith in yourself!”

  Tears spring to Lily’s eyes.

  Nana gives a tremulous smile. “You are cold, child. And life is hard. Have tea.”

  “I will, Nana,” Lily says. She turns to little Frankie, who also looks like she’s been up crying half the night. Lily kneels before Frankie. “I know you miss your mama and stepdad right now.…” She pauses, wishing she could offer hope that Frankie’d have her parents back soon. Instead, she offers what she knows is true: “They love you. And so do Nana and Hildy and Tom and Alistair. So do I and Jolene and my mama—and even those two stinky boys back at my house.” At that, Frankie gives a small smile. “We’ll all do everything we can for your parents—and for you, OK?”

  Frankie flings herself at Lily, who returns the child’s tight hug with one of her own.

  She turns back to Hildy, says softly, “I’d offer them to stay with us since it’s closer to…” She trails off, not wanting to say jail. “But…” And she trails off yet again, not wanting to add it’d be a conflict of interest.

  “I understand,” Hildy says. Lily squeezes her friend’s hand, seeing that she does, and then she heads down the aisle, for the real reason she came here before heading to the Harkins household—to talk to Brother Stiles.

  She fights back tears at her friends’ faith in her.

  She’s dry-eyed by the time she approaches Brother Stiles, who regards her with reluctant civility. “Sheriff Ross. It’s nice to see you coming forward to the altar.” He offers a half smile.

  “I just have a few questions,” Lily says. Several people are looking at them with curiosity. “In your back room would be best.”

  Brother Stiles looks at another man and gestures with a head tilt for him to follow them. Lily would rather talk to the preacher by herself, but she realizes that in this sect, though men and women might be sanctioned to worship together, they’re not to be alone together unless married. So she doesn’t argue. Besides, it appears that word spreads quickly in this congregation.

  In the back room, Brother Stiles offers her a chair, but Lily declines—she just has a few questions—and so they stand on either side of the table, while the other man stands near the door, arms crossed.

  Lily says, “Marvena told me that Arlie came here with Luther for a special prayer meeting Friday night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did others react?”

  “Most of us were startled. A lot of the men work in the mines. Luther Ross—well, let’s just say he’d test anyone’s capacity for forgiveness.”

  On this they can certainly agree.

  “And of course, there was some disappointment at Brother Arlie’s—condition. But he struggles mightily, we all know.” The preacher smiles. “I used to wrestle with the devil’s drink, myself.” He offers this insight with more humility and less sanctimoniousness than Lily would have expected.

  “And how did Luther and Arlie act?”

  “Well, truth be told, Luther didn’t look well, and Arlie was worried about him. Said he’d been sick on the way over,” Stiles says.

  That’s odd, Lily thinks. As much as he drinks, he should be able to hold his liquor. But maybe for once he couldn’t, and he’d tossed aside the flask. “Any idea where Arlie might be now? As you might understand, I need to question him.”

  Brother Stiles frowns. “I thought Marvena and Jurgis confessed? That’s what Nana told us this morning.”

  “I need to question him.”

  “All right. He lives with his daughter, Sally Mayfield.”

  “Any idea where?”

  Brother Stiles nods. “I can direct you there. I’d go with you, but from what he told us, his daughter doesn’t think much of our views—or believe her father truly found redemption here.”

  Well. Arlie’s actions seem to bear that out.

  The pastor smiles as if reading Lily’s thought. “As I said, judge not. Anyway, you’d have better luck questioning her, if he’s not there, without me present.”

  “I’m not a judge,” Lily says. “But I am the law. And I need answers to a few questions.”

  Brother Stiles gives Lily directions and she jots them down. She can drive part of the way, but she’ll have to walk a good stretch of it.

  When she finishes taking her notes, Lily says, “Marvena says both she and Jurgis ran out after Arlie and Luther. And that Marvena was holding a snake at the time.”

  “Yes.”

  Lily gazes at the cages. All but one hold a rattler. She looks back at Brother Stiles.

  “She was holding the one that’s now missing,” he says.

  Lily takes a moment to push aside her disappointment. She’d so hoped she’d learn something that would contradict Marvena’s and Jurgis’s claims.

  “Have you ever been bitten by a snake, Brother Stiles? While handling?”

  Surprise at the question lifts his brow, but he nods.

  “Do you bear a scar?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see it?”

  A few moments pass as Brother Stiles studies her. Lily thinks he’s going to say no. But then he takes off his jacket, unbuttons his shirt cuff, rolls up his left sleeve. He holds out his arm so she can see the top of it. There are two raised spots, just above his left wrist, and a raised welt, reddish brown. The spots are about a half inch apart.

  “Thank you. Can you tell me about how it happened?”

  The pastor frowns.

  “I’m just trying to understand how a bite might happen to a person handling a snake, or from one person handing a snake to another.”

  “Well, in my case, it was last summer. It was a smaller snake, so smaller fangs. Had to have the top of my arm lanced, and some of the flesh cut out, to release the venom and remove the infected flesh. But, praise God, I was only sick for a while after that.”

  Lily lifts her eyebrows, questioning.

  “I don’t consider the bite a failure of our practice, Sheriff Ross,” Brother Stiles says patiently. “It was a sign of my own lapses of living as God would have me do, and that I should correct them and improve my faith. I’ve handled snakes many a time, been bit just the once.”

  “The missing snake, the one Marvena had, how big was it compared to the one that bit you?”

  “Much bigger, I’d say just over four feet.”

  “So would its fangs be the same distance?”

  “No—more like three-quarters inch, an inch apart.”

  Lily considers. The punctures on Luther’s wrist were closer.

  “How fast did you swell up?”

  “Nearly right away.”

  “Would that be the case for everyone?”

  “I’ve only seen a few snakebites. It depends on the snake—its size, how long its fangs are, how deep the bite, and even if it releases venom. Not every bite means a venom release. And it depends on the person.” He smiles. “It’s just like being exposed to the word of the Lord. Not everyone reacts the same way.”

  Lily’s not sure a comparison of God’s word to a snakebite is the best analogy the preacher could make, but she sees his point. Dr. Goshen had said the puncture wounds were d
eep in Luther’s bite. Yet there was no swelling on his arm, just the red discs around the punctures. And if Brother Stiles had to have his arm lanced to remove poison and infected flesh, wouldn’t Luther’s arm have swollen, too—even if he wasn’t as reactive to venom as the pastor?

  “And how did it happen—I mean aside from it being a sign.” Lily says this as respectfully and sincerely as she can. “How were you holding the snake?”

  “I held it just below its head, and up high, over my own head. I was taken by the Holy Spirit, in prayer, and speaking in tongues, but I was told later that my left arm was pretty close to the middle of the serpent’s body. It was able to reach down, strike me.”

  So there is some technique in handling the snake to avoid bites—not pure faith. But that’s neither here nor there right now.

  For Marvena to harm Luther as she said, she’d have had to chase him down in the dark, while carrying a writhing four-foot rattler, pin Luther down, and get the snake to strike on the inside of his wrist, through a coat jacket and shirt.

  So unlikely. Most likely, she’d dropped the snake soon after running after him.

  And the puncture wounds are too close for the fangs of such a snake. The swelling doesn’t equal what Brother Stiles just described. So someone had put those puncture wounds on Luther, to make it look like Marvena had attacked him with the snake.

  Not Jurgis. It’s possible he’d beaten Luther, hit him so hard or caused him to hit his head so that he’d died.

  Or more than likely, Luther had passed out somewhere—maybe even where he’d been found—and frozen to death.

  But why make it look like he’d been bitten?

  The only person who can tell her that, she guesses, is Arlie.

  * * *

  Soon Lily finds her way to Arlie Whitcomb’s daughter’s house. The daughter, Sally, is a haggard-looking woman of only thirty-two, with four children, one a baby bouncing on her hip as she answers the door of her meager hillside cabin.